


Look beyond

by geethr75



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bhalla isn't all bad, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Polyamorous Baahubali
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geethr75/pseuds/geethr75
Summary: Bhalla comes to his senses in the nick of time, but doesn't stick around to face the consequences





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arpita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/gifts), [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts).

It was as he saw Kattappa's sword thrusting upwards towards Baahu's body that Bhalla came to his senses. It was as if time stood still, and in that one moment, he could see what awaited him. How bleak his future would be if this man were no more!

Bhalla shuddered as if from a fever, his tall form trembling as a cry burst forth from his lips, "No! Stop!"

Kattappa's sword stopped, inches from Baahu's back. The old man's hand began to shake and the sword fell on to the ground. Bhalla slid down the slope, heedless of the flying arrows as he made his way to where Baahu was still fending off arrows with his sword. The many wounds on his torso were bleeding, but he seemed heedless of that. 

"Kattappa!" Bhalla shouted. "Fight, damn you!" His own sword was out and he and Baahu swept through the enemy ranks. The few Kalakeya archers who had depended on the element of surprise were no match for them. Bhalla was oblivious of everything as his sword decapitated the first man before plunging into the heart of another. Thrust, pull, lunge, step, thrust again. It was a dance whose rhythm was very familiar to him. 

Soon, the battlefield was empty, corpses of the enemies lay all around them, the fire that Baahu had lit was still blazing, but it was nothing compared to the blaze of anger radiating from Baahu. 

"Care to explain?" He asked. 

Bhalla recognized that tone. The last time Baahu had used that tone was that day in the Rajasabha when his wife Devasena was put in chains for cutting off the fingers of the commander-in-chief of the armies of Mahishmati. 

"You did wrong, Devasena!" Baahu's voice still echoed in Bhalla's mind when he was surrounded by quiet. It was all the company he had ever needed. "When a man dares lay a hand on a woman, it shouldn't be his fingers that are cut off! It is his head!"

The whoosh of Baahu's sword and the rolling head had taken their place in Bhalla's nightmares since then, though sometimes it was he who stood there, and Baahu had cut his head off as if he meant nothing. 

"Kattappa," he spoke, even as he reviled himself for his cowardice. He refused to look at Baahu. "Tell him what happened."

"My King," Kattappa's voice was shaking and there were tears in the man's eyes. 

"Tell him!" Bhalla repeated, his voice hard. "Tell him what the Queen Mother Sivagami ordered! Tell him how his beloved mother," Bhalla couldn't keep the contempt from his voice, "ordered you to kill him!"

Silence fell, and Bhalla was conscious of his breath which was coming fast, of his heart that was thudding in his chest, of the sound of the flames crackling and of Kattappa's suppressed sobs.

"Is this true?" Baahu sounded broken, and Bhalla hated himself for doing that. But he still refused to look at him. "Kattappa… uncle, tell me… did mother…" Baahu couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. 

Kattappa fell at his feet, still sobbing. "Forgive me, my child!" He sobs. "The Queen Mother was misled… she loves you…"

"Misled…" Baahu's voice was soft. "What mother orders to have her son killed due to a misunderstanding?" 

Bhalla realised what was happening only when Baahu had gripped him by the arm and yanked him around to face him. "Did you do this? Did you manipulate mother into ordering my death?"

Bhalla stared at him bleakly. "To paraphrase your words," he said. "What mother orders her son killed because someone manipulated her?"  
Baahu let go of his arm as if the touch scalded him. Bhalla stared at the blood stain on his arm where Baahu's hand had been . He could still feel that touch. 

"I think you proved your point," Baahu's voice was wound so tight Bhalla could tell it would break soon. Even Amrendra Baahubali had his limits, and apparently between them, Bhalla and Sivagami had managed to bring him to that brink. "She is your mother…" Baahu's voice broke at the word. "Not mine…never mine…"

Which wasn't the point Bhalla was trying to make. Baahu staggered and Bhalla caught him, almost without thought.

"You're hurt," he said.

Baahu pushed himself away from Bhalla. "I've been hurt before."

_But not like this_. The thought rose unbidden in his mind. Bhalla crushed it ruthlessly. 

"You need treatment," he said, his tone brooking no argument. It was the tone he had used far too many times in their childhood and adolescence.

A faint smile graced Baahu's face, but there was a shadow behind that. "Why do you care?" He asked. "You wanted me dead."

And even after everything, that Baahu should sound so sad about that was what caused Bhalla to break apart inside. It hurt more than anything. He pushed it aside and focused on walking towards the palace, his arm around Baahu who was leaning on him heavily at this point. He could hear the sniffles of Kattappa who followed behind. 

At least, Baahu was not fighting him. His breathing was labored now, and Bhalla felt a flash of fear.

"Kattappa!" His tone was peremptory. The man could give in to his emotions later. "Come and help me!" His voice had risen with panic, and Baahu chuckled against his shoulder.

"You actually sound worried, brother."

"Save your strength," he said. With Kattappa too helping, it was easier to carry Baahu back to the palace, past the guards who stared and whispered, past the servants who trembled, fear writ large upon their faces. 

It was once Baahu was laid upon the King's bed and the royal physician summoned to attend him that Bhalla noticed his own appearance in the floor length mirror. There was blood on his clothes, on his bare chest and smeared over his face. But more than that, the expression on his face was grim and forbidding. No wonder the servants had been terrified.

"Leave," he told Kattappa. "Stay outside. No one is to enter except the physician."

"Bhalla," Baahu spoke once they were alone. "Why?"

"Save your strength," Bhalla said. "You'll need it."

"I'm a father," Baahu said, a wistful expression on his face. "Devasena was about to give birth when I…" he sighed. "I have to go home."

Bhalla said nothing, by now he had learned to recognise the true source of the jealousy he felt whenever he saw her or heard Devasena's name. 

"Bhalla!" Baahu sounded impatient. "I have to go home."

"Once you are well," Bhalla replied. 

Baahu looked sulky, but he also looked pale and ill and Bhalla opened the door and stared at Kattappa and the guard. "Where the hell is the Royal physician? Why is he taking so long?"

"I'll go and see, my liege," the guard ran off, probably glad to be away from his wrathful King. Bhalla slammed the door closed and stalked towards the window.

"Bhalla…" Baahu said. "Can you give me some water?"

Bhalla snorted impatiently as he went towards his cousin, surprised that his hands were shaking as he held the glass of water to Baahu's lips. He looked at his shaking hands to avoid looking at Baahu. 

"Why do you care?" Baahu asked as pushed the glass away, having drunk only half. "You're the one who tried to have me killed. You turned mo-Queen mother against me… Why? Because you coveted my wife? Why are you so concerned now?"

"I never coveted your wife," Bhalla said. "It was always you."

Baahu speechless was not a sight to be seen often. The arrival of the royal physician was a welcome interruption. Bhalla went out, and called Kattappa to him.

"Go to Baahu's house," he said. "Arrange to have his family brought here." He paused. "Afterwards, inform my mother I wish to have speech with her."

It was time he told her the truth. He could imagine her reaction, but really, it was her own fault. Her arrogance had been her downfall. Her arrogance and her stubborn pride, nay vanity. He felt no pity for her. He went back inside. He couldn't be certain that the physician wouldn't try and harm Baahu. For all he knew, the man might be in his father's pay, as were half the court. 

"If he doesn't recover," he said. "You and your family shall pay with your lives."

Baahu said softly. "Stop threatening the poor man, Bhalla. He'll do his best."

"I don't want his best," Bhalla said. "I want you to recover and live." He took off the crown and placed it on the bedside table. "Mahishmati needs its King." 

He had the satisfaction of knowing that he had rendered Baahu speechless for the second time that day.


	2. One

The old palace had always held a fascination for Mahendra. It was so there, in front of them, though it was always closed and locked and no one ever went near it. It was far bigger than the one they lived in now. Mahendra had once asked his grandmother why it was locked and why they didn't live there. She had pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing, a clear sign of her anger, before she had snapped at him to never ask about that place again. Mahendra wasn't daunted. He had asked his mother. Devasena's reaction had also been eerily similar to his grandmother's except she didn't snap at him. 

"It isn't a good place," she had said. "Don't ask about it again."

Most little boys would have given up by now, but Mahendra wasn't most little boys. He had next approached Kattappa whom he called grandfather, though he couldn't find the old man's name or painiting anywhere in the Palace archives which he had been forced to learn from the time he was old enough to walk and talk. Kattappa's reaction had almost alarmed him. The old man had looked furious, but there were also tears in his eyes. 

"It is a cursed place," he had whispered. "Please don't ask me about it, my prince!"

It only whetted Mahendra's curiosity about the place even more. He considered asking father about it, but rejected the idea almost immediately. By now, mother, and grandfather Kattappa would have told father that he was asking about the palace, and father would be on his guard. Pity. He should have asked father first, but how was he to know it was such a big secret and that no one would tell him? Not even his mother who always said there should be no secrets between family members?

Mahendra snuck into the old palace one day. It was laughably easy. He chose his time carefully. Night was out of the question. It might be more thrilling, but it was also foolish. Night was the time his parents spent with him. His father was such a light sleeper he would wake if Mahendra breathed heavily. Besided, the old palace was also guarded at night. It had to be during day. The best time was afternoon, immediately after lunch, because Mahendra was supposed to nap at that time, but everyone knew he would snuck out to climb the trees in the mango grove or go swimming, and no one really bothered to keep an eye on him these days. Grandmother would be napping, and mother and father would be busy in the court. Grandfather Kattappa would also be there, standing behind father like a statue, only his eyes moving and his stance alert. 

No one saw him sneak in. It was just as incredible as he had imagined. He had snuck in through a balcony which was next to the largest tree in the courtyard. There was a door which opened at his push and he entered it, closing it quickly. He stood there with his back to the door, heart beating fast and breath sounding loud to his own ears. The room he stood in was dim, and dusty, and empty of any furniture. He walked forward slowly once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, breathing deeply in awe at the proportions of the room. He inhaled the dust along with the deep breath and started coughing and sneezing, the sound as loud as drums in the silence. 

Once the fit of coughing was over, he went towards what he thought must be the door. It was unlocked and opened with a grating sound. Mahendra stepped cautiously into the corridor beyond. It was large, larger than the corridor in front of his room. He couldn't see its end, though he turned both sides. There were huge open windows on one side that must at one time have opened into the courtyard, but now were closed and large wooden planks were nailed across them. There were a few chinks here and there where the workers must have been careless, through which slivers of sunlight fell onto the dusty floor and Mahendra could see the dust particles swirling in the air. 

He turned left and walked, pushing open each door that he passed, and peering into the rooms. All rooms were large, dusty and empty. Some of the doors opened silently, some grated, and some didn't open beyond a few inches. After a second bout of coughing, Mahendra had tied his uttariya across his mouth and nose. The corridor ended on top of a flight of stairs larger than any Mahendra had ever seen, and he had seen quite a few. He looked around and at the dusty banister which was polished wood underneath all the dust. He climbed on to it and slid down smoothly in a cloud of dust. He had built up quite a momentum by the time he reached the end and he could see that he was probably going to fly off and fall and perhaps break his arm or leg. Which would probably lead to his parents finding out about this adventure, and might also lead to his being watched like a hawk. 

He somersaulted in the air as he flew off and flung himself up to catch hold of an iron chain suspended from the ceiling. He had seen chains like that in almost all rooms. Probably it had been used to hang a chandelier from when the palace was still in use. He looked down, calculating the distance to the floor. Would he make it without breaking something? He climbed down the chain and swung his legs before dropping lightly on to the floor, his feet finding purchase on the stone floor and his hands spread out to keep his balance. He stood there still, for another moment, before heaving a sigh of relief and turning to look around. 

He stood in an enormous circular hall. There was another staircase opposite the one he had taken winding up. There were also rooms leading from the hall. Mahendra opened one of the doors. It led into another room with walls full of scratches and scorings. Something must have been pried from the walls. A lot of somethings. 

He closed the door and opened another one. This one was a small corridor, and from the size, it must have led to the kitchen or the servants' quarters. Nothing to see there. Mahendra couldn’t see why everyone was so reluctant to talk about this place. What was the big deal? He opened a couple more doors, one of which led into another large room and the other into another large corridor. 

The next door opened smoothly and the first thing Mahendra noticed was that it stirred up no cloud of dust. The room was dusty, but when he pushed the door closed, he could see that the door had been opened recently. He looked at the room again. There was a patch on the floor where he could see footprints clearly. Someone had come in here. Recently too, since the dust had not covered the footprints. In every other place, the only footprints he had seen were his own, but this was different. It belonged to an adult. That he could tell, but he couldn’t tell whose. They were large, as large as father's. 

Mahendra knew he should turn around and leave before whoever the footprints belonged to came back. But he couldn't, not without knowing what was here. This must be what everyone wanted to keep secret. He had to know. He tiptoed into the room, taking care to walk on the larger footsteps. The footsteps ended on a wall, on which stood a life sized painting of a man he had never seen. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of a King of Mahishmati and was wearing the crown too, but Mahendra had never seen him in the painting room. Nor was he familiar with the name inscribed at the bottom. 

Bhallaladeva. King of Mahishmati. The year of his coronation and birth were also given and Mahendra frowned at them. The year of birth was the same as that of his father's and the year of his coronation was the year before Mahendra was born. He looked at the man, still frowning. Who was this? Why did no one ever tell him about him? Why did everyone want to keep him a secret? If he was king the year before Mahendra was born, where was he now? What happened to him? How was his father the King now? What did he do to make everyone so angry, and sad? 

So lost in confusion and thought was he that he didn't notice the door opening or the quiet footsteps that approached him, till a hand was laid on his shoulder heavily.

"What are you doing here?" 

Mahendra jumped and whirled around, his heart leaping to his throat and his hands striking out.


	3. Two

Mahendra's hands were captured in a pair of strong, large ones, hands he had been familiar with all his life.

"Father!" he said, surprised.

Amarendra Baahubali looked stern, and Mahendra wilted inside. His adventure didn't seem so exciting in the face of the disappointment that radiated from his father. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked. "Didn't your mother tell you not to bother with this place?"

Which wasn't exactly what she had said, but it was probably what she meant, so Mahendra didn't argue. He hung his head, muttering. "I just wanted to see what everyone was so angry about."

He could hear his father's breathing as he pulled his hands out of his grasp and shifted from one foot to the next, wishing the ground would open and swallow him up. He wanted to take a peek up to see if his father still looked angry, but didn't dare. He had never seen his father angry. It frightened him.

He heard his father sigh. He crouched down in front of Mahendra, put a hand under his chin and lifted his face to look him in the eye. Mahendra was relieved to see he no longer looked angry.

"It's all right," he said softly. "It was too much to expect you not to be curious, not when it was right here." 

His eyes went to the painting, and Mahendra too turned to look. There was a sad look on his father's face as he looked at it. 

"Who's that?" Mahendra asked, unable to contain his curiosity. "And why does he make everyone angry?"

Amarendra smiled and shrugged as he rose and bent down to catch Mahendra and lift him on to his shoulders. "I'll tell you about him when you're older."

"But who is he?" Mahendra persisted.

"He's your uncle," Amarendra said. "My brother." There was a hesitation before the word brother. 

"Why is everyone angry with him?"

"Because he did some bad things," Amarendra said.

"He was a bad man?" Mahendra was startled. If he was a bad man, that would explain everyone's reactions, but why did his father look so sad?

"No," his father said, his voice too sounding sad now. "He just made some mistakes. But he did the right thing when it mattered."

Mahendra didn't understand. "Is that why you're sad? Is that why you go there?"

"I go there because I miss him," Amarendra said, his voice so low Mahendra wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been sitting on his shoulder.   
"Where is he?" Mahendra asked.

"He left," Amarendra said. "The night you were born. We have not been able to find him."

Ah. So that was why father was sad. His brother was missing. He hugged his father around the head. "Don't worry," he said. "You will find him. You're Baahubali, there's nothing you can't do."

His father laughed and it lifted Mahendra's spirits. "You're right," he said, sounding amused. "But I can't go and search for him right now. Perhaps I should send you when you're older. You're Baahubali too."

"I will find uncle," Mahendra said with all the optimism of his eight years. 

Devasena's eyes took in the dust on his clothes and the dirt on his face, but she didn't ask anything, just taking him from his father and sending him off with an admonition to wash himself well. 

That night, just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard his mother speak softly to his father, "What did you tell him?"

"Only what he would understand," his father replied. 

His mother was silent for a while and just as Mahendra's eyes were closing, he heard her say, "I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive your brother."

"I know," his father's voice was gentle. "I would never ask you to either, but I… I can't help it."

"You love him," Devasena spoke softly, sounding sad. "In spite of everything he did."

"I do," Amarendra murmured. "Perhaps I shouldn't, many of the things he did doesn't deserve forgiveness, but… he did the right thing in the end."

"If that was the case, he wouldn't have run," Devasena said, sounding a bit impatient.

"You know why he did that," Amarendra said. "It wasn't out of fear of punishment."

"So you say," Devasena said. "Personally I think he was afraid of what his mother might do. She did prove herself capable of murdering her son after all."

"She was manipulated," Amarendra said, sounding tired.

"By her own ego," Devasena said, sounding almost angry. "Don't you dare try and defend her!"

"She's my mother," Amarendra said. "And she did realize her mistake."

"Only when it was pointed out to her in detail by her own son!" Devasena said. "I'll say this for your brother. He knows her better than you do. He had her measure."

"Devasena," Amarendra's voice was soft, but Mahendra could hear the steel beneath it.

"All right," Devasena said. "I won't say anything more. But I must say this. You are blind when it comes to those you love. You may choose to forgive them, but I do not. I cannot. A moment more and Kattappa would have killed you, at the order of your mother because of your brother's manipulations. Mahendra would have grown up without a father, if your precious family would have deigned to spare him or me! I'm not forgetting that, and I'm not forgiving any of them. Because there's nothing in this world that could have made up for what Mahendra and I would have lost, if your brother hadn't developed a conscience at the last minute!"

"It is hard for you, is it not?" Amarendra asked softly. "To see her everyday, to see Kattappa stand behind me at court?"

"It is," she said, sounding as implacable as the mountains from which she came. "I'm grateful your brother chose to run. Because it would be intolerable for me to keep on seeing him."

"Even though I love him?"

"That is your choice," she said. "I'm not of Mahishmati. I'm a daughter of Kuntala, and my nature is akin to the mountains whence I hail. Mountains do not bend or break. They stay strong in the face of every storm, and they do not change themselves to suit the whims of others."

"I know," Mahendra could hear the smile in his father's voice. "It is one of the reasons I love you so much, one of the reasons why you're the rock in my life."

"If only you will also listen to my advice," she said, amusement lacing her tone.

Mahendra stifled a sigh of relief. He had been so afraid his parents had been fighting, but no. They had just been talking. Mahendra wished he knew what they were talking about. Grandfather Kattappa had tried to kill father? Grandmother had asked him to? None of it made any sense. His uncle too had something to do with it. Mahendra was losing his interest in finding his uncle. If he tried to hurt father, why did father want to see him again? 

He yawned wide as he snuggled into his blankets. He would ask father tomorrow.


	4. Three

Devasena wasn't certain she would ever understand her husband fully. She couldn't understand his all too readiness to forgive those who had wronged him. Perhaps Sivagami was manipulated, perhaps Kattappa was helpless, but certainly neither Bhallaladeva nor his father could claim any such excuses. She hadn't forgotten how they had manipulated Kumaravarma into being killed. In times when she felt especially acrimonious, she thought that if it was someone important to him who was killed that way, Baahubali wouldn't have been so forgiving. In her more reasonable periods of reflection, she knew it wasn't so. Kumaravarma was important to Baahubali. 

Despite her anger at his forgiving nature, she couldn't but help be enamoured of it either. She might fight him about it, argue about it, but she couldn't deny that his willingness to look for the good in everyone, to forgive everyone was one of the things that she was so helplessly in love with. Perhaps that was why she fought so hard, because it was so inexplicable to her. She considered herself a good woman, but she was also a practical one. She was inflexible about some things. Even vindictive. And it surprised her every time, the capacity for goodness her husband had. It wasn't weakness. He had a core of steel, which she had seen firsthand when he had defied his mother and then his brother, to stand up for what was right. He was a rock when it came to doing what was right, and there was nothing that would move him. But he was also too willing to meet others half way when they acknowledged their wrongs and were contrite. 

And therein lay the problem. Devasena hadn't seen any sign of contrition in her in-laws. Bijjaladeva didn't count, not anymore, not since Bhallaladeva disappeared without a trace from the palace the night Mahendra was born. But no one except her husband had seen any sign of remorse in him, and hence it was hard for her to accept that he could have regretted his actions. As for Sivagami, all Devasena had ever seen was chagrin at how easily her son had manipulated her and anger, but no regret, no shred of remorse for the wrong done by her. If she was manipulated, it was her own fault. All that "My word is law" had gone to her head that she had started believing it herself, as if she was infallible and her word was some divine ordinance. Her pride, her vanity couldn't take it when Baahubali told her she was wrong and had stood up to her. She saw it as an insult, not realising what a compliment it was to the upbringing that had given him the conviction to stand against even her for what was right.

As she went about her duties the day after Mahendra's little adventure, Devasena was not in a charitable mood. She had been too understanding, too lenient, turning a blind eye to her husband's not so secret visits to the old palace. She could understand missing someone. She missed Kumaravarma so much, it was almost a physical ache. But Kumaravarma had always been their friend, faithful and loyal, his love for Baahubali equal, if not more than his love for her, and in the end, it was that love that Bhallaladeva and his father had manipulated to lure him to his death. But missing a man who had manipulated his own mother to turn against his foster brother? For whatever Baahubali might say, in her eyes Bhallaladeva had never been her husband's brother, just as Sivagami was not his mother. She might have raised him from an infant, but if she had truly been a mother, she would not have done all the things she did. And as for Bhallaladeva, all he had ever cared about was humiliating Baahubali. How could her husband have forgotten all that so quickly? Just because Bhallala changed his mind halfway through his plan to kill him didn't make him a good person, it didn't make up for all the manipulation, all the humiliation, and it certainly didn’t make up for Kumaravarma's death. Neither did it mean that Bhallaladeva was sorry for any of those things. 

Just because he ran, like the coward he was didn’t mean he regretted his past deeds. There was a part of Devasena that was happy he went, that he wasn’t there any more to wreak further havoc with their lives. But she also knew that Bhallaladeva meant as much to her husband as Sivagami did and that Baahubali was never going to be completely happy without him back in his life, no matter how toxic his presence was to everyone else.

And how was she supposed to be happy with having the man who killed Kumaravarma in front of her eyes everyday? How was she supposed to be happy with seeing the man who had nearly killed her husband? Baahubali was her life, had been ever since she had seen him, even when he was pretending to be an idiot and a coward, playing a role, because she knew even then in some part of her that there was more to him. And then he had saved her Kingdom from an invasion, almost singlehandedly, had defied his mother for her and had borne every humiliation a jealous Bhallaladeva had heaped on his head. 

How was she supposed to forget all that? Her hatred of Bhallaladeva was as much a part of her as her love for Baahubali, because the first was a natural by product of the second. Even if Bhallaladeva had never killed Kumaravarma, she still would have hated him for what he made Baahubali suffer. For she alone knew just how much it hurt him to realise that the brother he grew up with had no feelings other than hatred and jealousy towards him, that his greatest ambition was not just to be King, but to see that Baahubali was expelled from the minds and hearts of every person in Mahishmati, including Sivagami. 

That Bhallaladeva had been in love with Baahubali all along only made it worse, not better in her opinion. A love that twisted was worse than hatred. It was poison and it had nearly destroyed them all, and she wasn’t certain it wouldn’t do it again. Baahubali didn’t understand. Devasena did. If he did come back, if by some miracle Baahubali got Sivagami to forgive her son, it would change nothing. Bhallaladeva would always want Baahubali, and in his twisted way, he would hurt Baahubali again and again, till he destroyed him completely. 

Devasena had never been a coward. She wasn’t threatened by Bhallaladeva’s feelings for her husband, feelings that she knew were reciprocated. But Baahubali would also never be unfaithful, not out of any sense of duty but out of his love and respect for her. She was as certain of her husband’s love for her as she was of hers for him. But she also accepted that her husband loved the man who had tried so hard to wreck their lives, but while she was ready to turn a blind eye to that, she wasn’t going to let him try and bring that man back into their lives. Not for anything. Because while she had never seen Bhallaladeva as a threat, she knew that to him, she would always be one. To him, she would always be in the way, she and Mahendra, and she doubted even a love as pure as Baahubali’s could serve to change Bhallaladeva’s basic nature. Any other man, she would have pitied, but not Bhallaladeva. He was beyond redemption.

“Maharani,” the respectful voice that broke her out of her reverie was also familiar. It also reminded her that she was late for her customary appearance in court, something that her husband was as particular about as she was. Sivagami’s self assumed regency had gone some way towards changing the ingrained prejudices of some of the people, but most had seen it as an oddity, something that would be forgotten as soon as a King ascended the throne. Women in Mahishmati were neither seen or heard, staying within the rigid limits society proscribed. Devasena was determined to change that. So was Baahubali. 

“Tell the King I’ll be in the court, shortly, Kattappa,” she said.


	5. Four

Amarendra Baahubali had never been a fool. And despite what people thought of him, he had never been overly idealistic. He forgave Sivagami, but he was wary of her all the same. He was careful not to show it, but it was there. He forgave Kattappa, but he had lost his respect for him. True he was helpless, but was he? Was a forgotten oath more important than the life of someone he purported to care for? Besides, weren't there things more important than oaths? There was a thing called right. He might feel sympathy towards Kattappa's dilemma, but he would never again have the same respect or affection for the man that he did before. 

When that was so, when he had reservations for the two people he trusted and loved more than almost anyone, why was it his feelings towards Bhalla was untinged by the slightest bit of mistrust?

It wasn't that he wasn't angry with Bhalla. He was so angry he could strangle his brother, but there was none of the caution his mind held towards Sivagami, nor the contempt he had for Kattappa. All he had was a pure, blazing anger and if he was honest, and he had seldom been anything else, it was more because of Bhalla's vanishing act than due to any other reason. How could Bhalla have run like that? 

He didn't blame his wife for her feelings towards Bhalla. In fact he would have been surprised if she had reacted any other way. But he could not satisfactorily explain to her or even to himself why he had forgiven Bhalla with nothing held back when everything Sivagami and Kattappa had done had been at his instigation and manipulation. 

"You mistrust the tools, but not the wielder!" Devasena had thrown at him one day and she had been right. Bhalla had been the architect of the plot on his life. Yet, why was it that he still wanted to find him? Why was it that he still trusted him?

"You seem lost in thought," Devasena said as she came into their chamber. He smiled at her as he rose.

"I was," he said. "But it's not important."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You were thinking of him. Not important?"

He sighed. She knew him so well. "I was thinking of him," he admitted. "But it is not important."

She nodded. "Good. Where's Mahendra? He should have been here by now."

"He will be," he said as he led her to the window. Soon, the maids would be in, bearing food. They always had food in this chamber, the three of them together by themselves. No one was permitted to disturb them during this hour. 

"I hope he hasn't gone exploring that place again," Devasena said as she sat down on the seat by the window. "It isn't safe for a child."

"Perhaps we should have destroyed it," Baahu said. It wasn't a random thought. What was the point in keeping that place there? He would have preferred to burn it to the ground alongwith all the memories it held, both good and bad. Alongwith the portrait of the man who had tried to kill him and had then saved his life, had confessed his love and then disappeared.

"No," Devasena said, and her voice was hard. "It should be there, to remind your mother and everyone here of what almost happened, of what they all let happen!"

It was Devasena's way of punishing them. Baahu understood it, but what she didn't know, what he dared not tell her was that it was a punishment to him as well. Everytime he saw the place, he was taken to the night Bhalla had saved his life and his words.

"I never desired your wife. It was always you."

It had been on the tip of Baahu's tongue to ask, "Why did you never speak of this before?" but he had not asked, because the physician had come in, accompanied by Kattappa. Reason had asserted itself at that juncture. How could Bhalla have told him? They were brothers for crying out loud. What did it matter that they didn't share the same parents? They were both raised by Sivagami, they had never been cousins, always always they had been brothers. 

And yet, Bhalla had wanted him. But was it Bhalla alone? If he was honest, Baahu had to admit that he had always wanted Bhalla, except he had turned a blind eye to it, just as Bhalla had. 

Devasena was looking out the window, and as always Baahu felt his heart swell at her sight. He had loved her from the moment he had seen her, and it had only strengthened over time. How could he tell her he was having conflicting emotions for Bhalla? 

The maids were setting the food, but Mahendra was not there yet. 

"We should go look for him," Baahu said. 

"He's never this late," Devasena agreed. 

They both turned towards the door and Devasena spoke. "You do know that I know how you feel about Bhallaladeva, don't you?"

Baahu stilled and turned towards her. "What do you mean?"

She snorted. "I mean I'm not blind, and I know you. I don't like it, but… I suppose it's not something you can help."

An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but once again, she forestalled him. "Don't apologise either. I know you didn't choose to be in love with him."

"Devasena," he said, unable to say anything else.

She smiled at him, and he was surprised that there was no shadow on her face. "I know you love me," she said. "And I love you. I believe in us, and in our love. Even if you love someone else, I know no one will ever supplant me in your life or your heart. That's enough for me."

He drew her close, kissing her on top of her head. "I'm sorry," he said, even though she had told him not to apologise. "Perhaps we should have left Mahishmati and gone to Kuntala when I was exiled."

"It's too late to worry about that now," she said. "Let's go find Mahendra."

Which proved to be more daunting than Baahu might have imagined. Devasena searched his usual haunts while Baahu searched the old palace, and Kattappa and his men searched the city and the palace and grounds. But all their searches proved fruitless.   
Mahendra was nowhere to be found. 

Baahu was distraught, but he was more worried about Devasena than about himself. She was pregnant, a news that they had kept to themselves for the moment. He didn't want her exerting too much or worrying too much. 

"I'll find him," he told her. He knew every inch of his kingdom. After all, Mahendra was a child and he couldn't have gone far.

"I know," she said. "I wish I could come with you."

"I wish you could too," he said. "But Mahendra isn't our only child now."

She smiled at him, her hand on her belly. "I'll take care of this one," she said. "You go and find Mahendra."


	6. Five

Mahendra knew that perhaps he shouldn’t have run away. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. The man looked suspicious, skulking around the palace gardens, away from where all the visitors were. If he had not been sitting on the mango tree, Mahendra wouldn’t have seen him. The man was dressed in black and had a black cloak covering his head, and most of his face. Everyone knew that a man hiding his face and wearing black was a bad man. He had to be. And he was following father. He was doing it very stealthily, father didn’t seem aware of his presence, but from his vantage point on the tree, Mahendra could see it. The man was good at what he did, and neither father or grandfather Kattappa noticed him. He even knew to avoid the guards.

When he saw the man leaving, Mahendra had a decision to make. He could alert the guards or follow the man. He chose the latter. He would follow him, find where he was staying, find his plans and return to the palace and tell father. That would be the sensible thing to do. The guards hadn’t seen the man. Only Mahendra did. So, why should they get a share in his adventure?

Mahendra followed the man through the city, the bustle in the streets and his own small stature hiding him. The man wasn’t so careful now and he had removed his cloak, but all Mahendra could see was a broad back. He was walking purposefully, not looking to see if anyone was following. He was so foolish. 

Mahendra was so excited, but he was also a little bit afraid. He had never been to this part of the city. Would he able to find his way back? He took a glance over his shoulder and was reassured by the sight of the palace. If he lost his way, he could ask someone how to reach it.   
The man was in a narrow road now, one of the many that led out of the city. There weren’t as many people here. If the man turned around, he would see Mahendra. 

“What have we here?” Someone stepped into the way, and Mahendra looked up to see a bearded face and tiny eyes. The man was bare chested and wearing a brown dhoti. Two other men were with him, one was tall with a smooth shaven face and a lopsided smile, the other was short and thin with a bald head and a scar on one cheek.

“Are you lost?” The one with the scar asked.

“No,” Mahendra said. “Please get out of my way.” 

The tall man laughed. “Of course. But you have to pay us. That ring of yours looks like it’s made of gold.”

“Why should I pay you?” Mahendra asked. “Neither this road nor this city belongs to you.”

“This part of the city does,” the bearded man said, his teeth glinting in the sun. “Give us the ring, or we won’t have to cut off your finger for it.”

Mahendra laughed. “Cut off my finger? Are you as foolish as you look?”

“Boy-” the man caught his arm, but Mahendra shook it off.

“Don’t lay your filthy hands on me!”

The man snarled and lunged for him, but he had dived into the air, using the men’s own bodies as steps as he vaulted over their heads and behind them. The men turned, knives in their hands, but before they could take a step, there was someone between Mahendra and them. The black clad figure was familiar and Mahendra held his breath as the man spoke.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Who the hell are you to say that?” One of the men asked. Mahendra couldn’t see who it was. The man’s broad shoulders and back obscured most of his view.

“Just a concerned citizen,” the man said. “Leave the child alone, if you know what’s good for you.”

“If you get in our way, you’re dead!”

The man sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The fight was over in moments. Mahendra could only see the flash of knives and the swirl of black, but within moments the three men were groaning on the ground, their knives were being picked up by the man wearing black. He looked at Mahendra.

“Are you all right?”

There was something niggling at Mahendra’s mind as he looked at the stranger. He had seen him before. He knew it, but he couldn’t remember where. The stranger was still looking at him and belatedly Mahendra realised he was waiting for his answer. 

“Yes.” he said, adding. “Thank you for helping, but I could have taken them.”

An amused gleam came into the man’s eyes. “I’m sure.” His eyes moved over Mahendra. “You should be careful out here. This is not a savoury neighbourhood and you are wearing far too many ornaments to escape notice.”

Mahendra said nothing as the man passed him. Following him was out of the question now. He looked distastefully at the men on the ground. He could have taken them, and he could have defeated them, but the man did an impressive job. Mahendra had to concede that he wouldn’t have been able to beat the three men so quickly. He looked around to see if any soldiers were passing, but there were none. What was he to do now? He could hardly leave the three criminals here. But he couldn’t stay and guard them either. 

The sound of feet, and around the corner came his father.

“Mahendra!” Joy and relief intermingled as he was swept into an embrace.

“I’m all right,” Mahendra said as his father hugged him tight enough to bruise. 

“Of course, you are.” his father said. 

“I wasn’t the one who did this,” Mahendra said. “A stranger helped me.” 

He felt reluctant to tell his father about how the man had been watching him and of how he had followed him.

“He left,” he added as his father released him to look around. “I don’t think he knew who I was.”

“No wonder,” his father’s eyes lingered on his torn and dirty clothes, but there was laughter in them. “Mind telling me what you were doing here?”

“I thought I would explore the city,” he said. He didn’t like lying to his father, but for some reason, he didn’t want to tell him about the stranger. 

“Let’s go home,” his father hoisted him on to his shoulder, his guards rousing the three men and placing them in cuffs and herding them towards the prison.


	7. Six

Devasena felt relief course through her as she saw Mahendra sitting on his father’s shoulder. His clothes were dirty and torn, but he looked unhurt. His face and body were also liberally streaked with dirt. It was nothing. Dirty and torn clothing was better than what her mother had to deal with when she was his age. 

She wrinkled her nose as they neared her. 

“Go and bathe,” she ordered. “Both of you. We’ll have food afterwards.” It was almost evening, but that didn’t matter either.

Mahendra ran off almost immediately, but Amarendra remained.

“He was in the old part of the city,” he said. “He said he was attacked by some thugs and was saved by a man who was passing by. The man doesn’t seem to have known who he was and didn’t stay once the thugs were knocked out. Mahendra isn’t the best at descriptions, so I’ve no way of finding him.”

There was an undercurrent of worry in his voice and she could understand why. Thugs in the city was bad enough, but this man who had rescued Mahendra was as worrisome. After all, any person who had saved a child from thugs would have seen to it that he got home safely. That the man didn’t was suspicious. There was also the fact that the man had knocked out three thugs, which indicated he was no ordinary citizen. 

“The Kalakeyas haven’t been completely wiped out,” she said. “And they aren’t the only enemies Mahishmati has.”

“That is my thought too,” Amarendra admitted. “And I can’t help thinking what would have been Mahendra’s fate if the man had recognised him.”

Devasena could feel her entire being grow cold at the thought. It was fortunate that Mahendra wasn’t recognised, lucky that his appearance was such that no one who didn’t know him would have known he was the prince. 

“Hey,” Amarendra’s arm was about her. “He’s safe, and we’ll keep him that way.”

She nodded against his chest, though her insides were twisting with anxiety. It wasn’t like her. After all, nothing had happened.

_It is this place, this city, this kingdom. It has tried to take everything from me once already and I cannot trust it again._

“I’ll go and have my bath too,” Amarendra said, his arms still around her. She nodded again. 

“Have Kattappa keep an eye on him,” she said.

“Of course,” Amarendra said, sounding surprised. She read the words he didn’t speak in his eyes. _But you don’t trust Kattappa._

She didn’t. Not any more. But as long as Amarendra sat on the throne of Mahishmati, Kattappa would do what he asked. As long as she and her husband were the rulers of Mahishmati, they wouldn’t find a better bodyguard for her son. Even at his age, Kattappa was a formidable warrior.

Mahendra came running towards her a few minutes after his father had left. He had changed his clothes and had scrubbed himself as thoroughly as he could, though his face was already accumulating dirt. There must be something in the air. She pulled him towards him and started wiping his face. His hair was still dripping wet and she started to towel it dry.

“I dried it!” He protested. “Mother! I’m not a baby!”

She ignored his protests, not deigning to reply as she towelled him dry. His face was pink and his hair looked shiny and he had a pout on his face. He touched his scalp gently.

“I thought you were going to towel my head off my body,” he said.

“Really?” She asked, and he grinned.

“Not really, but you were a bit rough.”

“Only a bit?” She asked. “I’ll have to work on that.”

He laughed. “Where’s food? I’m hungry.”

“We’ll wait for your father,” she said. “And it’s your own fault you’re hungry. So while we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me what happened today?”

He shrugged and started bouncing off of a couch. She let him. It was sturdy and if it broke, they could replace it.

“The guards here didn’t even see me,” he boasted. “I slipped right under their noses.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Because there’s nothing more in the palace grounds to see. And I got bored.”

“I’ll have to tell your teachers not to give you too many free hours then,” she observed.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said. “I don’t mind lessons, but they get so stuffy sometimes and I don’t like that.”

Mahendra had pulled so many pranks and played truant so many times that his teachers had all but given up. They let him off after an hour or so of lessons. It didn’t worry Devasena. She wanted him to enjoy his childhood. He was an intelligent child and was already advanced enough in his studies that even grumbling, his teachers had said he was as good as his father at that age.

_Perhaps we should find someone younger to teach him. All those old men constantly comparing him to his well behaved father can’t be easy for him._

As much as she loved her husband, she was happy Mahendra inherited her wildness, and some of her rebellious nature rather than the sweetness of his father’s disposition and its docility. Amarendra would stand like a rock when it came to doing the right thing, but he was not rebellious by nature. Neither of Sivagami’s sons were. 

She smiled as she saw the subject of her thoughts enter the room and Mahendra jump down from the couch. It had survived. 

“Let’s have food now!” Mahendra said.

Smiling, Devasena joined her husband as they made their way to their places, following their son. 

“Tell me about what happened in the city,” she said as they had all sat down. “About the man who saved you.”

“He needn’t have,” Mahendra declared with all the confidence of an eight year old. “I could have taken them. They were fools to think they could indulge in thievery in father’s kingdom.”

“Well spoken,” Amarendra said, as he ruffled his son’s hair.

“What was he like?” Devasena persisted.

“Big, black clothes, beard,” Mahendra said. 

“Very eloquent,” Amarendra said as he looked at her, his eyes alight with laughter.


	8. Seven

It was two weeks before Mahendra went missing again, and Baahu thought perhaps they should have expected it. Mahendra was too like his mother, restless, spirited and energetic. He also had an insatiable curiosity. Baahu wasn’t worried too much about his son’s safety, but he knew that Devasena wouldn’t be so lackadaisical. To her, Mahishmati was still not home, but the alien land that had tried to humiliate her and her husband and had tried to take everything from her. She would give her life for its people, but that didn’t change the mistrust she had for the kingdom itself.

It was only as he came across the ring that Baahu started to worry. The ring was lying on the dirt on one side of the paved road. It had been trampled almost into the dirt, but was still visible. It hadn’t lain there for many hours then. Yet, it was cause for concern. He rounded the corner to find Mahendra’s torn uttariya hanging from a bush. Was Mahendra leaving him tokens to find him by? He had no choice but to follow the trail. It was as he reached the city gates that he realised that the trail he had been following was more than he thought.

“Kattappa,” he said. “Does it look familiar?”

Kattappa who had been inordinately silent and downcast since Mahendra gave him the slip—something for which neither Devasena nor Baahu blamed him—got down from the horse and looked down. His sharp intake of breath was all the confirmation Baahu needed.

“The track of Kaalakeyas!” Kattappa said, suddenly alert and ready. The change was astounding.

“They have Mahendra,” Baahu said, trying not to give in to the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. 

They had his son, but he was still alive which meant they probably mean him as a bargaining chip. He could work with that. All he needed to do was reach them in time.

Kattappa and he rode hard, following the trail that their experienced eyes could pick out with ease. The Kaalakeyas were fast, and they had a head start on them, but they were still on foot and Baahu had no doubt that they could catch them. Mahendra’s necklace lay on the dirt to one side, but Baahu ignored it as he pressed on. Ornaments were not important. He had to find his son.

The terrain here was uneven, with trees and bushes scattered throughout. The tracks were still visible, but the dirt was shifting to rock and Baahu felt the first wave of fear and despair. He couldn’t afford to give in to it, however. 

“I can’t find it,” Baahu said. “Kattappa, the trail is gone!”

“We’ll find him,” Kattappa said. “I can feel they’re close. Don’t lose heart, my King.”

Baahu nodded, not fully convinced, but hope was all he had left and how could he just give it up? He followed Kattappa, looking around to see if Mahendra had thrown any more trinkets to show them the way. Mahendra was strong and agile and well trained, but the Kaalakeyas were brutes. He wasn’t sure if his son would be able to escape them or fight them. Mahendra was also intelligent, and that was the only hope he had left now. 

Kattappa stopped abruptly and Baahu couldn’t see why. His horse snorted and shook its head and Baahu could smell it. Blood. The buzzing sound. Flies.

“What is it, Kattappa?” He couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. 

Kattappa turned around and it heartened Baahu to see confusion on his face rather than grief. He moved to a side and Baahu rode forward, stopping when he was abreast of Kattappa. 

Four Kaalakeyas were on the ground in front of him. Or rather four corpses of people who used to be Kaalakeyas. One had been stabbed with a sword, the other was impaled on a spear, the third had a knife sticking out of his chest and the fourth… it looked as if his skull was bashed in with something heavy. A mace or a shield or a rock. 

There was no sign of Mahendra.

“Who could have done this?” Baahu muttered. 

Kattappa had no answer.

“Kattappa,” Baahu said. “Return to Mahishmati. Tell Devasena of everything that has happened. Tell her I’m going to find Mahendra and bring him back.”

“I should come with you,” Kattappa said.

Baahu shook his head. “I think it’s best if I proceed alone. Go back, and tell Devasena to take care of things in my absence.”

Kattappa looked like he was about to argue, but Baahu had no time for arguments. “It’s an order, Kattappa.”

There was a time when he wouldn’t have done it, a time when he would have hesitated to wound this old man whom he still loved, but that was a Baahu who hadn’t known betrayal, a Baahu who had trusted implicitly. 

“Go back, Kattappa,” he said.

He relaxed only when Kattappa was gone. He waited a few moments before dismounting and bending down to examine the bodies. The first man to die was the one impaled by the spear. He probably didn’t see it coming. Then whoever it was had jumped on to them, thrusting his sword into the gut of one and his knife into the heart of another, before jumping back and parrying a few blows from the remaining man before bashing his head in. He had taken his sword, but not the knife. And Baahu knew that knife. 

It was with trembling hands that he drew it out of the corpse. He knew what he would find etched into the hilt and the blade. The emblem of Mahishmati and the name of its owner.

“Bhalla,” he whispered, as elation and anxiety both coursed through him.


	9. Eight

Mahendra woke up in the dark, his whole body paining and without knowing where he was. He was thirsty and his head hurt. He tried to touch his head and winced when his arm hurt. He made a small whimpering sound, and someone was at his side.

“Here,” the man’s voice sounded familiar. He put an arm around Mahendra, gently helping him up to a sitting position and placing a glass against his lips. “Drink slowly,” he said. 

Mahendra drank slowly. He would have liked to drink it all in one go, but he thought the stranger must be a physician. Father and mother always said that only fools didn’t follow the physicians’ instructions, and Mahendra was not a fool.

The man laid him back down and went away, only to light a lamp. Mahendra blinked at the sudden light and as his eyes became used to it, he saw that the man was the one who had rescued him from the thugs on that day, the man he had followed. He stood near a table which was standing against a wall, and he was looking at Mahendra with a frown.

“Where am I?” Mahendra asked. 

He remembered being grabbed and being tied up, and gagged, and being carried like a sack of flour. But the men who had taken him weren’t too good at tying knots and Mahendra had loosened the ones on his hands in no time, and had been taking off his ornaments and throwing them on the road. His father was sure to come after him, and Mahendra didn’t want him to lose the way. He had even torn off his uttariya and dropped it. The men had been so intent on making a getaway that they hadn’t paid any attention to him. The last thing he remembered was the men stopping near a rocky outcrop, saying something in some strange language that he couldn’t understood and one of them had hit him over the head with the hilt of his sword. 

He tried to raise his hand to his head again, swallowing down the whimper of pain, and encountering a piece of cloth tied around his head. The man’s eyes never left his. He made no move to stop him, though. 

“It hurts,” Mahendra said.

“I know,” the man answered. “There was a nasty wound on your head and it was bleeding. I almost thought we had lost you, your highness.”

“Where am I?” Mahendra asked again. 

“In a village, near the mountains,” the man said. “You’re lucky to have survived. The physician here bound your head and gave you medicines. The villagers have also arranged to send word to the palace, and gave up this house for your use.”

“Did you bring me here?”

The man nodded. “As a loyal subject of your parents’ I could have hardly left you there to die now, could I?”

There was something about the way he spoke the words that made Mahendra uncomfortable. 

“You needn’t have stayed,” he said at last. 

The man stared at him for a few moments without blinking and Mahendra shifted his eyes away, feeling uncomfortable again. 

“I suppose I could have left,” he said after a moment, and Mahendra could hear him come closer and his heart started thumping hard. Why was he afraid of this man? He had saved his life, hadn’t he? Twice now.

There was a creak and the bed dipped, and Mahendra turned his head to look at the man sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“The physician said you had lost some blood and the head injury was severe. You were also feverish and delirious. He said that unless the fever broke soon and you woke up, there was a good chance you might die in your sleep.”

Mahendra wasn’t surprised. “Will I live now?”

“I think so. You’re awake, you’re coherent, you’re able to remember and talk and move, so yes, I should think so.”

“Is that why you stayed? To make sure I would survive?”

“Well someone had to make sure you took your medicines in time. Even unconscious, you were a handful, and none of the people here had the courage to forcibly feed you the medicines. You’re the prince, after all. They must have been afraid that saving your life forcibly would invite punishment when you woke.”

Mahendra giggled, unable to help it. “Thank you,” he said, looking at the man and feeling a bit shy. 

He had thanked a lot of people. Both his parents had impressed upon him that he should always express his gratitude for even the meanest of services. And this was no small thing.

“Just don’t get into any further trouble, all right?” the man said.

“I’ll try,” Mahendra said. “I don’t… I don’t get into trouble on purpose, you know…. I’m just… bored and exploring, and...”

“Was that what you were doing that day you followed me?” the man asked, a glimmer of smile on his face. 

“That… you were in the palace and watching father… I had to make sure you’re no enemy.”

“I might be,” the man said. “All this, saving your life and all, could just be a ploy. Perhaps I am the one who arranged to have you kidnapped.”

Mahendra frowned. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

“No, your highness,” the man sighed. “I’m telling you that you shouldn’t trust too easily. I’m telling you to be careful. You may be good, but you are still young. You have enough time to grow up and prove yourself, but you need to stay alive for that. Your father has made as many enemies as friends, and so has your mother, and you’re more of an easy target than either of them.”

There was the sound of some commotion from outside. “Do you think that’s my parents?” he asked, trying to sit up again.

“Unlikely,” the man’s hand was on his chest, preventing him from rising. “They sent the messenger to the palace only this morning, after the fever had broken.”

Mahendra opened his mouth to ask him what he would have done if he had died when someone entered the room.

“Father!” he said.

The man stood up and whirled around so fast, Mahendra couldn’t even see his movement. His father looked at him.

“Are you all right?”

Mahendra nodded.

His father’s eyes shifted to the man’s face, and there was something on his face, an expression of such pain that Mahendra had never seen or believed possible in his father.

“Bhalla,” he said.

“Baahu,” the man replied, giving him a bow. “I’ll be outside, brother.”

“Don’t leave,” his father said softly. “Please.”

Mahendra had never heard that level of pleading in his father’s voice or seen it in his eyes. He looked at the man who had saved him.

“You didn’t tell me you are my uncle,” he said.

The man turned around to look at him, and Mahendra was surprised to see the same pain reflected in his eyes that had been in his father’s.

“I’m the black sheep of the family, in case no one told you,” he said. “I didn’t think it best for you to know.”

He turned to face his father again. “I won’t leave, not immediately. Be with your son,”

He went out and Mahendra’s father came towards him, sitting down where his uncle had been a few moments ago. 

“You gave me a fright, son,” he said, his hand on Mahendra’s cheek. “I almost thought I lost you.”

There were tears glistening on his father’s face, and Mahendra placed his hand on his father’s.

“I’m all right,” he said. “Uncle Bhalla saved me.” he paused. “Is he going to come back with us?”

“I don’t know,” his father said. “I hope so, but I’m not sure.”

“You’re the King,” Mahendra said. “Can’t you order him?”

His father chuckled, but there was no amusement there, it was dark. “You can’t order Bhalla to do anything,” he said sighing. “He’s too much like your grandmother.” His father scooted close to him, and stroked his face again. “You should have your medicine.”

He opened his mouth obediently and though the medicine tasted vile, he didn’t spit it out, swallowing it instead. 

“Was it that bad?” his father held a spoonful of honey to his lips and he swallowed it gratefully. 

“It was foul,” he said. “Thank you for the honey,” he yawned. “it made it better.” he yawned again. Why was he feeling so sleepy? “Don’t go away.”

His father kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake,” he promised.

Mahendra slept.


	10. Nine

Devasena wasn’t sure how she should react to Bhallaladeva’s re-entry into their lives. Technically, he wasn’t part of their lives yet, having refused Amarendra’s invitation. Her husband was heart-broken over it, but hadn’t pushed, a fact for which she was grateful. The invitation had been issued without her consent, which she wasn’t happy about, but she wasn’t going to say anything while Amarendra was so despondent. Besides, Bhalladeva did save Mahendra’s life, so she might even be willing to put up with him.

But going to seek him out? That went beyond mere tolerance. But she had to. She had to talk to him, to make certain he wasn’t going to try and destroy her life again, that he wouldn’t think that his saving Mahendra made up in any way for his attempt on Amarendra’s life. Perhaps it was a good thing that they were in this remote village. It was far easier to corner Bhallaladeva without Amarendra knowing about it. With a tact not expected of them, the people in the village had housed Bhalla in a house at its very edge while giving her family one in the very centre. 

She hesitated a moment at his door before banishing doubt. She knocked at the door and pushed it open, not waiting for a reply. Bhallaladeva looked up from his seat near the window where he was obviously mending a tunic. She blinked at the sight. It disconcerted her, but she wasn’t going to let it distract her.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he said, wariness in his posture though his face was expressionless and his voice neutral. He placed the half mended shirt on the chair next to the one he was sitting. “I’m surprised it took you so long,” he added.

“What are your plans?” She asked. 

“I admire your forthrightness,” he said. “I really do. Even when it gets you into trouble, that tongue of yours can never be still, can it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you trying to provoke me?”

“Am I now?” He asked.

She frowned as she studied him, he was trying to look nonchalant, but his posture was rigid, and his fists clenched. 

“Mahendra told me that you had been in the palace grounds, watching his father,” she said. 

A flush crept up under his skin and he looked discomfited for a moment, before his face again smoothed into an expressionless mask. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t owe me or anyone anything. You’ve already proved that. Perhaps I just need to know that you have no designs on my husband’s life any longer.”

A flash of hurt passed through his eyes, but that could well have been her imagination. “Would my word satisfy you?”

“I don’t think anything will at the moment,” she admitted. 

“You know how I feel about him,” he said after a moment. “I know him well. He wouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“Even if I believed that,” she said. “I still don’t understand why it was him you tried to kill and not me. If you loved him, that would have been reasonable.”

“I agree,” he said. “Let’s just say that my ability to lie to myself was of a greater order then. It took his nearly dying to break my cocoon of self deception.”

He wasn’t looking at her now, but was looking down and despite all his attempts, his voice was shaking slightly. Devasena might hate him, but she was certain that he wasn’t lying. Not about this.

“So, what are your plans?” She asked again.

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t plan on coming back, so you needn’t worry about that. I won’t skulk in the palace gardens anymore to stalk your husband, but then I had never planned on doing it, but...” he shrugged. “If I do, no one will know, including your son.”

“Why did you save him?” She asked. That was one of the things that baffled her. Bhallaladeva had saved Mahendra twice now, and he didn’t need to. She would have thought that he would hate Mahendra as much as he hated her.

“Because he’s his son,” Bhallaladeva answered. “Do I need a better reason?”

“He’s mine too,” she reminded him. 

“I know,” he said. “You and I will never be friends, your majesty. In fact, we’ll never be anything other than enemies. But that doesn’t mean I wish you or your son any ill. You both mean the world to him. He… he was ready to give up everything for you, risked mother’s wrath, exile… all for you.” he sighed. “It would have destroyed him to lose you, and it still would, just like it would destroy him to lose that child. That is reason enough for me to protect him. I… I nearly broke him once… I won’t do it again.”

She stared at him, and realised what he was saying. It was ironic that she finally knew she could trust him when he was telling her that they would always be enemies.

“You know,” she said. “He told you how he feels about you.”

“He did,” Bhallaladeva nodded. “And I know he was telling the truth, but…” he sighed again. “I cannot take the chance, I cannot break him.”

“You’re already doing it,” she said, and that wasn’t what she had meant to say. Was she this perverse? Hadn’t she come here to make sure Bhallaladeva wouldn’t ever interfere in their lives? Then why was she trying to persuade him otherwise?

“Please,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “We need have no pretences with each other. You know you wish me at the other end of the earth or maybe even in the netherworld.”

“I do,” she said, incurably honest as always. “But… I too don’t want him to be broken, and he will be if you leave. If he can love us both, perhaps we can learn to at least tolerate each other.”

“No, Devasena,” he said. “I… I’m grateful to you for saying it, but it won’t work. We may think we can try and get along for his sake, but… I’ll never be able to forget that you took him from me, and you will never be able to forget that I tried to take him from you, and in the end, we’ll only hurt him worse.”

She stared at him. Perhaps he was right. In fact, he probably was. But somehow, she couldn’t accept it. 

“I always knew you were a coward,” she said, turning to go. “I didn’t realise you were a quitter as well.”

Outside, she took a deep breath before pursing her lips and going towards the house where they were staying. The physician was confident they would be able to take Mahendra home tomorrow. Perhaps it was best that she wasn’t able to convince Bhallaladeva. He was right. It would never work, and they would end up hurting Amarendra worse than ever. 

He was sitting by Mahendra’s bedside when she entered the room. Mahendra was asleep and Amarendra was stroking his head. He smiled at her when he saw her.

“Where have you been?” He asked. “I had been waiting to have lunch.”

“Nowhere important,” she said, moving towards him. He put an arm around her and held her, and she leaned into the embrace. He kissed her belly, murmuring. “Do you think it’ll be a daughter?”

She kissed the top of his head. “Does it matter?”

He shook his head. “No, not rally, but it would be nice to have a smaller you.”

She put her arms around him, closing her eyes. This was her family, her life, her world, and they were here, with her, safe.

“It would be nice,” she echoed his words.


	11. Epilogue

In hindsight, Bhalla thought he shouldn’t have been so surprised when Baahu found him. He hadn’t exactly tried to hide his trail, unlike the last time. And now that Baahu was here, he had to admit to himself that a part of him had hoped for this. Which showed perhaps that he was a masochist, for what had he to look forward to but more pain? 

“Shouldn’t you be with your family?” He asked.

“Aren’t you part of that?” Baahu countered.

Bhalla sighed. “What do you want, Baahu?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Baahu was too close and Bhalla swallowed, trying to smother the desperate hope that had begun to beat its wings against his ribs.

He put out a hand to push Baahu away. “You have a wife and a child.”

“She knows I’m here.” Baahu said, capturing his hands, but not coming closer. 

“And?” 

Was Baahu there to say goodbye? It was possible. Why did it feel like his insides were shrivelling up at the thought?

“She told me that you believed this wouldn’t work,” Baahu said. “But she said if I wanted to take a chance, she wasn’t going to stop me.” He paused. “Which means that it’s up to you now. I can’t… I won’t force you into this, no matter how badly I want this… if you don’t want to take a chance, I… I won’t stop you...”

There was something so painfully raw in his voice. Bhalla wanted to kiss him, to tell him that there was nothing he wanted more. He could take a chance, and who knew? Perhaps it would work after all. 

“You love your wife,” was what came out of his mouth though. He recognised the tactic. He was such a coward! 

“And I love you too,” Baahu said. “Why can’t I love you both?” He sounded so broken and Bhalla felt his chest clench in pain. 

“Why not?” He whispered. Why not, after all? If Baahu and he both wanted this and if Baahu’s wife didn’t have a problem with it, why couldn’t they have this? 

“You can,” he said, adding. “As long as you don’t expect me to come home with you.”

“Home,” Baahu said, stepping closer to him again. “You are my home too, you know.”

Bhalla said nothing, just pulling Baahu closer and hugging him, and Baahu’s arms were around him, and Bhalla couldn’t believe that this was real, no dream, that Baahu was here, and in his arms. 

“I missed you so much,” Bhalla whispered, his voice breaking. He could spend the rest of his life like this, just holding Baahu close, feeling his arms around him, his smell surrounding him.

“I missed you too,” Baahu murmured against him. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I don’t think I will be able to,” Bhalla said. “It took everything I had the last time, but I was too much of a coward to stay.”

Baahu pulled himself back a little. “You’re not a coward,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever say that.”

“I love you,” Bhalla said. 

Baahu kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! All done!! Hope you all enjoyed this!!


End file.
